Bed Buddy
by SkiiDiabolika
Summary: "What he hadn't counted on was waking up with someone's warm body pressed against his back, legs tangled with his. Hope surged inside of him at the thought that Amanda had somehow pulled her head out of her ass and decided to come back home after all. Amanda however, wouldn't have blood and dirt caked under her fingernails or stubble on her chin. "
1. Chapter 1

Michael slumped against the side of his car, hands shoved into the pockets of his dark jeans as he contemplated the old, battered trailer he'd been standing in front of for the last fifteen minutes.

What the hell was he even _doing_ here?

Of all of the questionable things that he had done in his life, driving all the way down to Sandy Shores at two in the morning to explain to his psychotic best friend that he'd developed some strange addiction/obsession with cuddling him, absolutely took the cake.

He could count this as an act of sheer desperation, couldn't he? It had been the same vicious cycle for six insomnia filled nights now. He usually attempted to put himself to bed at a decent hour, but ended up wandering about the house at all hours of the night with an over active mind until he finally broke down and drowned himself in Whiskey then passed out on the couch.

It had all started a couple nights after Amanda took the kids and left him for that metro sexual, Yoga obsessed prick. Trevor showed up and quite literally banged down his front door demanding to know why he hadn't returned any of his calls. He ended up discovering Michael in the upstairs bathroom clinging to the outside rim of the toilet as he emptied every ounce of alcohol he consumed that night in a fit of depression and nerves into the bowl.

Trevor had waited patiently for him to finish from where he stood leaning on the door frame, watching with what Michael still swore was pure amusement. When he finally began to dry heave, strong tattooed arms locked around him and pulled his limp sobbing body up and into his room where he was unceremoniously tossed onto his bed.

What he hadn't counted on was waking up with someone's warm body pressed against his back, legs tangled with his. Hope surged inside of him at the thought that Amanda had somehow pulled her head out of her ass and decided to come back home after all. Amanda however, didn't have blood and dirt caked under her fingernails or stubble on her chin.

And last time he checked she never had morning wood.

He remembered being more confused than disturbed like any other typical straight man would have been if in the same situation. He couldn't remember a time where he'd gotten a better nights rest than he did that night with Trevor's limber body practically wrapped around him, thick boots digging into the sensitive skin of his calves. Although he had been itching to press him about what exactly had gone on that night, he knew it was probably best for his own sanity that it was left alone.

Maybe if he would have cleared all of that up before he wouldn't be standing in front of Trevor's place almost a week later like some lost puppy, trying to come up with a logical explanation as to why he needed wanted to share a bed with him.

"Fuckin' _stalker_." A familiar voice teased from behind him.

_Shit._

He turned to see Trevor- of all god damned people- leaning against the other side of his car, crossed arms resting on the hood with smirk plastered on his face.

"Uh, hey T."

"You look like shit."

Michael grimaced. "Thanks a lot, prick."

"What brings you out of isolation?"

"Thought I'd stop by to see what you were up to." Michael choked out, reaching up to rub the back of his neck.

Trevor's smirk widened. "Well how thoughtful of you to take the time out of your busy schedule filled with self loathing and over eating to check up on me."

"You've got to be the world's biggest asshole." Michael leaned over to shove Trevor's arms off of the hood of his car, ignoring the glare he got in return.

"Why don't you ask Amanda for her input on that one, Mikey boy? I'm sure she'd have an even _better_ candidate."

"Fuck you." Michael spat venomously.

Trevor's eyebrow arched suggestively. "So_ thaaaaat's_ what you came here for."

"Oh, Jesus Christ." Michael pushed himself upright and slowly started toward Trevor's trailer. He didn't have the patience nor energy to engage in another little banter fest. With Trevor they always ended up spiraling out of control and it usually led to swinging fists, bloody noses and black eyes.

"Aw chill out, would ya sugar tits? I was only messin' around." Michael waved a hand dismissively and began to climb the steps. He stormed up behind him and grabbed his shoulder, yanking a startled Michael back and around to face him. Reflexively, Michael slammed a hand into his chest and shoved him away.

"Put your hands on me again and I'll fucking bash your head in!" He hissed through clenched teeth.

Trevor's lip curled up in a sneer at the outburst, nails digging into his palms as his fists clenched at his sides, eyes narrowing dangerously. He stared Michael down for a moment before taking a step back out of his personal space. "I know you didn't drive all the way down here for a fight." He murmured quietly. "You gonna tell me what the hell's got your panties wrenched up into your crack, or what?"

Michael's face softened and he squeezed his eyes shut, raking a hand through his hair frustratedly. "I didn't mean to...y'know. I just-dammit I'm tired. So fucking _tired_."

"_Okay_." Trevor leaned in a little, eyes boring into Michael's. "I'll put it another way. What. Did. You. Come. Here. For?"

Michael groaned low in his throat averting his gaze to the ground. How was he even supposed to put this?

_'Trevor, I need you to sleep with me.'_

_'T, I need you in my bed so I can sleep.'_

_'I can't sleep without you-'_

SMACK!

He winced a little when he felt the rough skin collide with his own, hand shooting up instantly to cup his stinging cheek.

"What the fuck was that for?" Michael exclaimed angrily.

"The next words out of that annoying, fucking mouth of yours better be an explanation Townley, or there's way more where that came from."

Michael swallowed hard. "I wanted to see if it'd be okay with you if I crashed here for a couple days."

Trevor stared at him incredulously. "You wanna stay here. With me."

"Yeah. House is empty, not much to do. I've been locked up in that place for days now and it's got me goin' kinda stir crazy. Could use a change of scenery."

"And a shit load of Z's. Maybe a shower or six." Trevor nudged him toward his trailer with his elbow. "Feel free, Mikey. Mi casa, Tu casa."

Michael snorted lightly at the remark about his personal hygiene. That one was certainly rich when it was coming from someone who walked around smelling like he'd bathed in the sewer half the time.

"I appreciate this, man."

"Yeah, yeah. Get the fuck in the house."


	2. Chapter 2

Michael sat on the edge of his bed, leaning forward with his elbows pressed into his knee caps. He was clutching the half filled bottle of Jack that he'd been nursing for the last half hour by the neck in his fist like his life depended on it. Then again, maybe it did with the way he used it like a supportive crutch to get him through his days.

It was the first thing he looked for when he woke up feeling like his brain was set to explode with a hangover from hell, and it was the last thing he found himself curled up with wherever it was in the house that he ended up passing out.

The Jack didn't nag or resent. No, it understood and it knew how to comfort him better than anyone. It spread a warmth all throughout his body, numbing every sense to the point that he couldn't tell the difference between what was and what wasn't.

That's why he loved it.

He looked up when his door was wrenched open, fully expecting to tell the asshole standing in his doorway to fuck off, but sharply turned away when the light from the hallway spilled into his otherwise completely dark room and blinded him.

"Just when I thought you couldn't get anymore pathetic."

Bloodshot and red rimmed jade eyes flickered up, narrowing at the man leaning against the door jamb that pretty much posed a threat to his last remaining bit of sanity.

_Trevor_. He always had the absolute worst timing.

Michael had been screening his calls for about a week now, turning off his lights and doing whatever he could to avoid him.

He knew he would want to talk about what happened between them that night in his trailer. Michael wasn't sure if he'd ever be ready to acknowledge that **_'it'_** as he'd been referring to the incident in his mind, had actually happened.

_**It**_ was much more intimate than he'd expected it to be, than he _wanted_ it to be with Trevor. The position had been familiar, but this time Trevor's body had been writhing heatedly against his own with his arm locked around his waist, hand shoved down the front of his jeans. His lips dragged up the length of his neck, teeth sinking into the sensitive skin at his collar bone.

_"Ah ah ah..Easy Mikey, easy..."_

The rough scarred hands had ghosted over Michael's skin at first and then gradually began escalate to groping and squeezing until his body was a trembling, persperating mess. Each time he found himself about to teeter over the edge Trevor would back off with a breathy chuckle.

_"Fuck...Trevor jus-just get it over with already."_

When Trevor finally quit his fucking teasing and stroked him to completion, the orgasm that ripped through Michael caused every inch of his body to tense almost painfully as he cried out and spilled his seed all over the other's hands and the beer stained sheets, before collapsing against him bonelessly.

He slept like a baby that night.

It had taken Michael exactly six days to realize that no amount of alcohol or denial could erase the fact that he had let Trevor Phillips jack him off...and thoroughly enjoyed it.

"Haven't seen you since you showed up at my place about a week ago, cryin' for a bed time story."

"I'm not in the mood for any of your bullshit, T." Michael warned.

"When I actually give a fuck about what you're in the mood for, I'll be sure to send you a memo." Trevor retorted. "Franklin told me he came by the other day to check up on your sorry ass and that you didn't answer. I just wanted to come by and make sure you didn't decide to do yourself in."

Michael squeezed his eyes shut and let his head fall into his free hand. "Yeah well I ain't dead yet, sorry to disappoint you. I'll be sure to give the kid a call later. Fuck off."

Trevor snorted and slowly made his way into the room kicking the door shut behind him. He came to a stop and crossed his arms, eyes scanning over the room as he took in the absolute shit show that Michael had become all in a matter of a few weeks.

He hadn't left this room for days judging by the amount of liquor bottles that were scattered among the broken glass and wall plaster littering the once pristine carpet. There were a few holes in the walls from where Michael must have decided to play "Target practice" as Trevor liked to call it.

"I'd rather not." Trevor shot back, lifting a worn boot to push what looked like an overturned photo album out of his way as he approached the bed. "I mean you ain't exactly all that easy on the eyes at the moment, amigo. I could list a whole bunch of things I'd rather jack off to than you."

Michael raised an eyebrow. "Oh I'm sorry, is the lack of cheap perfume, silicone and venereal diseases turnin' you off?" He brought the bottle up to his lips but the light burning sensation in his throat never came, as Trevor had quickly swiped it out of his hand before he could empty it.

"Bar's closed." Trevor said, ignoring Michael's livid protests as he drank the remaining Whiskey in the bottle and tossed it aside. "Now normally I wouldn't give two shits about your life choices, but this is getting pretty ridiculous. Amanda's _gone_, Michael. Tracey and Jimmy are gone-"

"Trevor, don't-"

"They're fucking _gone_-"

Michael stood and lunged at Trevor with an intent to wrap his hands around that scrawny neck of his and squeeze until his eyeballs popped out of his head, only to be shoved back onto the bed.

"What are you gonna do, huh? _What_?" Trevor hissed, eyes widened with fury. "You gonna hit me, you gonna bash my fuckin' head in? That won't do a god damned thing to bring 'em back."

Michael glared and shoved himself back up onto his elbows. "Who are you to give me a speech on fucking family values Trevor, huh? You turn everything you touch to shit! You want people to hate you. The only reason those two goons you call your buddies stick around is because they're afraid that you might off 'em if they ever decide to pull their heads out of your ass."

Trevor growled and began to pace back and forth in front of Michael rapidly, fingers ripping at his own hair. "I'm the one who's gonna make you realize that laying here like a sad sack of overweight, self pitying **shit **isn't going to change anything! If you want things to change you have to make them, you selfish prick."

"You think I don't know that I screwed up?!" Michael shouted back. "You think I'm not regretting everything I've done?"

Trevor opened his arms and then let them fall to his sides. "There's your problem. I bet Amanda isn't curled up in her jammies with a pint of ice cream cryin' over you and counting all of her regrets. What you need to do is get your ass out of that bed and start livin' again."

Michael was taken aback at the sudden outburst. When the hell had Trevor gone from the chronic pain in his ass to his motivational speaker?

More importantly, why did he sound so convincing?

Trevor had to be the most opinionated and blunt person he'd ever come across. His advice wasn't always the most helpful, nor was it usually rational to even consider taking, but there many moments where he hit the nail right on the head regardless of the fact that he was probably being offensive whilst doing it.

Those were the moments where he had to actually admit that Trevor was right.

And man did he fucking hate it.


End file.
